The jungles of the Amazon can be threatening to those of us who live in Seattle. Some of us carry around the thoughts of an anaconda wrapped around our bodies as we sleep; flesh devouring ants on the march, leaving nothing but the skeletons of those unfortunate enough to be caught napping; cooling our feet in a stream and finding that we have nothing remaining from the ankle down because a small fish has seen fit to lunch on them.

Oh, the horror!

I think of these jungles as I pedal across the vast wastes of Ballard, Howler monkeys screaming in the distance, the smell of rotting vegetation clogging my nose. But wait, this is Ballard, not the Amazon. So why the hallucinations?

Could it be that Ballard is known for its Aboriginal Tribes who hunt the illusive Howler disguised as bicyclists? Could it be that these Aboriginals hunt with blow guns that are tipped with poisonous darts? Could be. Or it could be just because recently there have two bicyclists attacked with blow guns while pedaling in Ballard.

At this point I have to stop to apologize to Aboriginal Tribes around the world whom I might have insulted. Aboriginals hunt for food unlike the tribe in Ballard who hunt bicyclists for sport. I’ll call this tribe Moronicus Witless from this point or Moron for short.

Ballard is becoming a battle cry for the bicyclist in Seattle. Ballard, the last holdout in the completion of the Burke-Gilman Trail, and now one of the last places in Seattle where one can expect to be attacked just because he or she belongs to a given group.

I’m not going to put myself as a bicyclist in the same category as those who suffer attacks because of their race, religion or sexual orientation, but I do feel discriminated against because of my preferred choice of transportation and sport. Ask the two bicyclists who were attacked with darts from a blowgun and see if they don’t agree.

It seems somehow ironic that someone who rides a bicycle for health, transportation that causes no harm to the environment and asks little from the city in the way of routes that make our travel a little more safe are the target of the aforementioned Moron Tribe.

This rant comes from a place a little deeper than from my place as a bicyclist. It also comes from my heritage. My ancestors came from Finland. They didn’t come to Ballard from Finland although they might have.

They settled in Northern Minnesota. I finished their journey and settled in Seattle. I carried their pride in community and culture along with me. Ballard is, or was, a place that valued the things that my grandparents brought from Finland: hard work, integrity, belief in community, taking care of your fellow man and everything that gave them the courage to leave their home, never to see it again. Pardon me while I stop to wipe away a tear when recalling their sacrifices that brought me to the place where I find myself. 

Ballard was built on the same values. It should take a minute to recall that simple fact.
 
No, I don’t expect that Moronicus Witless will be influenced by anything I have to say. Such a person or people don’t have the stuff required to understand what they’re doing.

Such a person is responsive only to criminal prosecution. But what I don’t understand is the group of businessmen who have sued the city because they feel that the city has failed to “investigate how local industries would be affected by the trail.”

The trail is the Burke-Gilman and the street in question runs through the industrial area of South Ballard. Some of these business people recently gave statements to The Seattle Times. One said that his company would become uninsurable if the trail, as proposed, is built.

This logic is in the camp of Moronicus Witless. If one of his trucks hits a bicyclist now he has possible liability problems. How, I would ask, does a bicycle-safe trail increase liability?  I think, no, I know that what this businessman and his fellow litigants want is the status quo.

They don’t see, as my grandparents did, that they have a responsibility beyond themselves. They have a responsibility to the community. That community includes me and others like me who bicycle.

As I said in an earlier column: “Can’t we all just get along?”

As you ride through Ballard’s jungle, listening for the cry of Moronicus Witless, ride safely.